Someone To Watch Over Me
by anotherredhead
Summary: A missing moment story within a story for the Season 19 episode "The Disciple." With Matt gone, Kitty wrestles with an uncertain future and doubts about the life she has chosen. She embarks on a journey that guarantees she will never look at that life the same way again.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Standard disclaimers apply. Characters and plots from the following episodes are referenced: _The Disciple, Kitty's Love Affair, The Badge, Miss Kitty, _and_ Hostage! _ Thanks to ladybrit, whose great time travel story gave me the confidence to give this a try, and singerme for being an encyclopedia of knowledge which she generously shares.

Someone to Watch Over Me

Chapter 1

"What-Ifs"

Kitty lay still in her bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as the pool of tears in her sapphire eyes trickled down to her hairline. They were familiar tears, shed privately more times than she cared to remember over the past nineteen years. Worry and grief, hurt and anger, relief and joy—each tear had been hard earned with one of these emotions, yet decidedly worth the price she had paid for them. Her life with Matt Dillon was something she had never dreamed possible when she stepped off that stage in Dodge City as a young girl those many years ago. Now a middle-aged woman, it was sometimes difficult to even remember a life before him. Not that she usually tried very hard—those were not memories she was eager to relive.

But tonight, stretched out alone in a double bed, she found herself struggling with a different kind of memory. Watching him ride out of town with no guarantee of his safe return had certainly not been a new experience. No woman got involved with a lawman if she couldn't handle that, and Kitty had handled it better than most. It was his job, and they both knew that the lives of a town full of citizens had to come before the personal feelings of two people, no matter how strong those feelings were. It wasn't easy, but she accepted it.

This time, however, it wasn't his job that had taken him away. No renegades to capture, no trial to attend, no crime spree to stop. No, this time they were separated not by duty but by choice. His choice.

The bullet that had spurred his departure had been fired by a gang of outlaws, as had so many before it. How many times had he crumpled to the ground as she watched in horror, begging Doc to work another miracle? More times than she had fingers to count them. Not terribly long ago, she had deemed that number at least one too high and had left her home with every intention of leaving the uncertainty and heartache with it. But she soon discovered that along with the heartache she had left her heart in Dodge City, and when he came after her she had no choice but to come back and reclaim it.

That fateful morning, as she cradled his head in her lap while a red stain spread through his shirt sleeve, she knew she would never leave him again. She didn't know how many times he had been hit or how bad it was, but she would see him through it no matter the outcome. It had been such a relief to learn that his right arm had suffered the only wound—nothing to take lightly, but far less worrisome than a major organ where life or death hung in the balance. But to a man whose livelihood depended on the use of that arm, merely surviving the injury was nothing to celebrate. A lawman with a bad gun arm was useless.

The decision to leave town had been completely his own, no one had demanded his resignation. Matt Dillon had protected this town for twenty years, and the citizens of Dodge City couldn't imagine having another Marshal. The fastest draw around just needed time to heal and rebuild his skills, and people were eager to give it to him. Unwilling to risk their safety, he decided not to take it.

He had ridden out with no fanfare, minimal supplies tied to his horse as the woman he had loved since the early days of his long career stoically watched him disappear from view. Her pleas for him to reconsider had been ignored, not altogether unexpected from a man who always had to do things his way. He had bid her farewell with a promise to be in touch, but no more. There was no promise that he would come back, or that he would send for her if he didn't. Then again, theirs had never been a relationship built on promises.

That had been days ago, and she had heard nothing since. Kitty Russell found herself in the familiar position of worrying that she might never see her man again, and the unfamiliar one of knowing that this time it didn't have to be that way. He had options other than leaving town. He was not a young man anymore and no one would have faulted him for turning in his badge and retiring while there was still life left to enjoy. A bad arm did not make him useless—not to her. Yet she didn't seem to be a consideration in his decision.

Kitty rolled over and sobbed quietly into her pillow. It was late and there was no one around to hear her, but somehow she couldn't release her cries with the intensity she felt. The role of the strong woman with nerves of steel was too engrained in her person. Her sobs were meant to be muffled.

After she had exhausted the last tear, Kitty turned over and wiped the moisture from her eyes. A full moon shone brightly through the window, catching a small stone in one of her rings and casting a pinpoint of light around the room. She had never liked her freckles and wore rings and manicured nails to make her hands look prettier. She grasped the ring between her thumb and index finger and began to nervously twist it back and forth. Such a pretty ring, the one Matt had given her years ago on Valentine's Day. It had always been a symbol of what she had, but tonight it was a painful reminder of what she didn't.

Nineteen years, and what did she have to show for it? Not a family, or a home, or even a commitment. Not a real one anyway, as the void in her bed proved. She could have had all of those things if she had been willing to settle. She'd had offers, and there would have undoubtedly been more had there not been a discrete but common assumption that she was off limits. The beautiful redhead belonged to the big man with the badge, and he was not a force that many were willing to challenge. Kitty let out a brief, ironic laugh at the thought. If only they had known that the deck was stacked in their favor. He would have let them win, for noble reasons that she understood but that stung nonetheless. She had learned that lesson with Will Stambridge.

What if she had accepted Will's offer? He had come into her life at a time when she was hurt and vulnerable, and she didn't love him. No, she didn't regret letting him go. But what about all the other men who had shown interest in her when she was young and had her whole life ahead of her—what if she had given one of them a chance? She probably wouldn't be lying alone on a bed in The Long Branch Saloon crying her eyes out at this moment. Maybe she would be in a different bed lying next to a husband who cherished her, and the perennial bachelor of Dodge City would be a distant memory.

Better yet, what if she had followed her gut and gotten right back on that stage her first day in Dodge, oblivious to the man responsible for the nineteen year detour her life had taken? There would be no Matt Dillon looming tall over every man she encountered, men who didn't stand a chance of measuring up to the new standard she had discovered. Maybe she wouldn't have found the same intense love, but perhaps she would have been spared the intense pain that often went with it. Maybe Matt would have been better off too—free of the burden he carried in protecting her, of the conflict he felt in being unable to always put her first in his life.

Kitty ached at the thought. Was it possible that her life in Dodge had been one big, long mistake? That it had led her on a futile, fruitless journey that she would regret in her later years? The thought consumed her as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Another World"

Kitty reached for the extra pillow and covered her eyes as the morning sun illuminated her room. She didn't know what time she had fallen asleep, but it had been late. She didn't know what time it was now either, other than too early to get up.

She shifted onto her side and was startled by a loud squeak. That was strange—her bed had never squeaked before. She surely would have noticed if it did, as much as that mattress had been tested. Eyes still closed, she rolled over again and heard the same irritating, sleep-depriving noise. _It's going to be one of those days._

Frustrated, she sat up and leaned forward, burying her face in the pillow. It smelled stale and musty, as though it hadn't been washed in weeks. She opened her eyes to an unfamiliar solid blue pillowcase. She quickly cast it aside and looked down at the matching blue sheet. Where did this come from? Her sheet set was red with a floral pattern.

Kitty slowly scanned the contents of the room, still groggy and certain she wasn't thinking clearly. Nothing was familiar. It looked like her room, but these were not her things. The dressing table, the mirror, the chair in the corner—they were all covered in dust, and she had never seen them before. Her armoire was missing. She turned around and the bed squeaked as she caught a glimpse of a plain wooden headboard instead of her lovely brass one. This was not her bed.

Her heart beat faster as she tried to remember the previous evening's events. She hadn't had much to drink, just a brandy nightcap. How could she have ended up in a strange place? She got out of bed and peeked out the window, seeing the same view of Front Street that she'd always had. This had to be her room—why was it filled with someone else's furniture?

A clean, white silk robe was neatly draped over the old chair that went with the strange dressing table. It was not her robe, but she somehow felt compelled to put it on. It fit perfectly over her long nightgown, as if it had been made for her.

_There is some explanation. This is not really happening._ She tied the robe closed with a neat bow, wondering how a dream could seem so real. She didn't remember having a dream before where her senses were so vividly stimulated, actually able to see colors and feel smooth fabric with her hands. She opened the door and stuck her head into the hallway, unsure what to expect. It looked like the same hallway, though it had that same musty smell. She saw no one but heard a noise coming from downstairs. _Please let it be Floyd._

She crept to the railing and peered down at the saloon that had been her business and home for most of her adult life. The room was empty, lacking not only people but also the tables and chairs her customers had used for years. Kitty sighed. _They must be with the rest of my furniture._

She heard the clink of glasses and turned her attention to the bar. It was still there at least, but the stools were gone. A heavy layer of dust covered the top. A man was carefully washing glasses and setting them in rows on the shelf.

It certainly wasn't Floyd, the man she employed as her barkeep—it was barely even a man from the looks of him. He couldn't have been more than twenty years old. He was tall and dark and very handsome, wearing a crisp white shirt with a vest and apron as if he had borrowed Floyd's uniform. He flashed a friendly smile as he looked up at her.

"Good morning, Miss Kitty," he said cheerfully. "Did you sleep well?"

She was not expecting that. A chill went through her body as he said her name. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"I work for you, Ma'am," he replied in the same friendly manner.

"Floyd works for me," she said sternly. "I have no idea who you are. And where are my tables and chairs?" This dream was starting to get annoying.

"There is no Floyd here," the young man explained. "Just me. I've been assigned to help you today."

"Assigned? By whom?" she asked suspiciously. _Why am I arguing with him? This is not real. _

"By someone who is very much interested in your happiness and well-being," he assured her in his boyish voice, which she found oddly comforting.

"Who?" she repeated in a motherly tone that said, 'You had better answer me, Mister.' Even in a make believe world, Kitty Russell was a force to be reckoned with.

The young man smiled. "Why don't you come down here," he suggested, avoiding her question. "It will make it easier for us to talk."

Kitty looked at her attire. She'd had dreams before where she had gone to work in her nightgown, or even naked. She supposed it was happening again, though she had never actually been aware she was dreaming while still in the dream. She would never knowingly greet a stranger dressed like this, but what else was she supposed to do? Her armoire was gone, she had no dress to change into, and she was stuck in this damn dream. She had no choice but to play along and see what happened.

She descended the stairs and walked over to the bar, hands on her hips. "OK, _now_ will you tell me what is going on here?"

"Certainly," he offered. "As I told you before, I'm here to help you."

"And exactly what do I need your help with?" she asked skeptically.

"I've been told that you are questioning your decision to make a life here. Is that true?"

Kitty's eyes narrowed. How could he possibly know that? She had not shared those feelings with anyone, not even her closest friends.

"I can give you some answers to those questions," he continued, not waiting for a response. He reached under the bar and handed her a newspaper. The date on the paper was one she remembered well—the day before Matt Dillon was shot in the arm, before her world had been turned upside down.

"Why are you showing me an old newspaper?" she asked.

"This is today's paper," he replied.

"That's crazy," she claimed. "I may be dreaming, but I know what day it is. This paper was published before Matt…" She stopped herself out of habit. She never talked about her relationship with Matt, certainly not with strangers.

"Was shot in the arm?" he finished her sentence. "Yes, I know. But that hasn't happened yet. Marshal Dillon has to be here in order for me to show you the world you want to see."

"Mister, you aren't making a lick of sense," she complained. _What's new?_ _Has anything made sense today?_

"I know it's hard to understand, but you have entered a place that most people never get to experience," he beamed. "I am here to show you the Dodge City that Kitty Russell never called home. Welcome to the life you didn't choose."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"You Are (Not) Here"

The charming young man smiled and extended his elbow to the woman he was preparing to escort on this most informative of tours. Kitty decided to surrender all hope of making sense out of what was happening and just go along for the ride. She had to wake up eventually.

She wrapped her arm around his as they walked outside onto Front Street. She looked up and read the worn sign hanging cockeyed over her establishment—"The Peacock Saloon."

What? Despite the missing furniture and strange bedroom décor, this looked exactly like her place. "Isn't this The Long Branch?"

"Not for many years," he said. "When Bill Pence decided to sell, the only offer he got was from a shady businessman who ended up destroying it. Watered down drinks, bad whiskey, crooked card games—the man was practically run out on a rail. A couple of people tried to reopen it under different names, but they could never make a go of it. So they eventually sold most of the inventory to the other saloons, just to get something out of it."

"What about Floyd?" she asked, suddenly concerned for her trusted employee.

"What about him?" he inquired.

"Well, where is he? He's my barkeep, I hired him after Sam died." She got a lump in her throat thinking about that difficult loss.

"You didn't hire anyone, remember? You never lived here. Floyd didn't work at The Long Branch, it was long gone before he got here."

"But he's okay, isn't he?" she asked hopefully.

"Oh yes, Floyd is fine. He works at The Lady Gay. It sure is a shame about Sam, though."

"I know," she said sadly. "He was one of my dearest friends, and I still miss him. I just lost him last year."

"Actually, Sam died thirteen years ago," he declared. "He couldn't find a job in town, so he ended up hiring himself out as a cheap farm hand. That kind of work was too physically demanding for a man his age, but he was desperate. He died of a heart attack shortly after."

"That's not true!" Kitty cried. She couldn't stand the image of her fatherly friend struggling to make it as a farm hand.

"Well, I can take you to his grave if you'd like to see it," he offered. "It's a very small ground marker, but the date will show you when he died."

Kitty was in no mood to see a grave marker. She took a deep breath and told herself to calm down. _It's not real, remember? Just play along. _"No, thank you," she responded.

"Are you ready to see the rest of the town?" he prompted. "I think you will find it interesting."

Kitty glanced around the street and noticed a smattering of activity. She instinctively crossed her arms around her middle, aware that she was most inappropriately dressed for a stroll through town.

"You don't need to worry about your appearance," her tour guide assured her. "No one can see you."

She started to ask how that was possible but decided against it. She hadn't liked any of his answers so far.

Kitty scanned each building as they continued down Front Street. Other than The Long Branch nothing looked out of the ordinary, yet she had the distinct feeling that she wasn't in Kansas anymore. She couldn't explain it, but the town had a different feel to it.

Dodge City was open for business, and the breakfast crowd had begun assembling at Delmonico's. As she walked past the Post Office, menacing faces stared back at her from the plethora of wanted posters that decorated the outside wall.

She wouldn't have stared back had it not been for a name she recognized among the sea of assumed criminals. Kitty slowly approached the poster, her left hand covering her heart. It couldn't be…could it? She hadn't seen him in years, though they had kept in touch with letters. He was grown now, a young man but a man just the same. She looked closely at the picture as her mind flashed back a dozen years to the chestnut haired, brown-eyed freckle face that she had fed sugar candy and taught to fish. The eyes were the same, but the youthful innocence had been replaced with a hardened reality.

She reluctantly read the words under the picture. "Wanted: For bank robbery. Thad Ferrin."

"He was a good kid with a lot of potential," said the man who seemed to possess no shortage of bad news. "He just didn't have a chance."

"I don't understand," she said weakly. "He was adopted by such a nice family. He's supposed to be in college now."

"Thad wasn't adopted," she was informed. "He was raised by his father. Raised to be an outlaw, just like him."

Kitty felt sick at her stomach. Tucker Ferrin was as vile a human being as she had ever known. He had viciously killed her friend, the mother of his child. But Tucker Ferrin could not have raised Thad, she had made sure of it.

"That's not possible. His father is dead," she insisted without elaborating.

Oh, I'm afraid Mr. Ferrin is very much alive," he stated. "It's Thad's mother who is dead. After Tucker killed her, it didn't take him long to find his son."

"Tucker Ferrin did not find his son," she stressed, almost angrily. "I…I killed him before he could."

"No, you never met him."

"Yes I _did_. Thad's mother was my friend, she was working for me when she got involved with Tucker. I promised her that I would protect Thad from him if anything ever happened to her. And I kept that promise." Despite the years that had passed, she could still see the expression on that soulless face as Tucker Ferrin charged toward her, threatening, daring her to pull the trigger on the rifle she was aiming at him.

"You're forgetting where you are," he politely reminded her. "Ellie never worked for you, and neither did anyone else here. She was working at another saloon when she met Tucker Ferrin, and she didn't have a friend who was willing or able to take responsibility for that child. At least not for very long. Nobody promised her anything."

Kitty put her head in her hands and let out a growl of frustration. "Look, I don't know who you are or what kind of rabbit hole I've fallen down, but I've had enough of this. Take me home. Now."

"I'm sorry, but I can't do that just yet," he replied sympathetically. "I have a job to do, and my boss isn't the kind you want to disappoint."

"I don't care if your boss is God almighty, I'm telling you to get me the hell out of here," she hissed through clenched teeth, emphasizing every word. She thought she saw him trying to stifle a laugh, and it infuriated her.

"Is my predicament amusing to you?" she asked disapprovingly.

"No Ma'am," he assured her. "It's just that you're still…I mean, you're a very feisty lady. You sure keep a fellow on his toes."

"It doesn't seem to be doing me much good," she remarked dryly. "Please tell me what it's going to take to get me out of this place."

"Just a couple of more stops," he promised. "Follow me."

They continued walking, and Kitty stopped at the bottom of a familiar wooden staircase. She smiled for the first time all day as she looked at the name on the sign. "G. Adams." She hadn't seen anything she had liked so far, but Doc was still here and that was something. It was beginning to feel like Dodge after all.

"Would you like to see him?" the young man asked.

"More than you know," she answered, starting up the steps.

"Oh he's not in his office, he's over at the stable tending to Ruth."

Kitty turned around, puzzled. "Why? Ruth belongs to Festus."

"Doc took him after Festus was killed," he clarified. "He didn't need a mule, of course, but he couldn't bear to sell him. He thought taking care of him was the least he could do for Festus. They sure argued a lot, but Doc loved him dearly."

Kitty swallowed hard and looked toward the jail. How could Festus be gone?

"What happened?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"Jude Bonner happened," he replied, shaking his head. "One of the meanest men this town has ever seen."

No one knew that better than Kitty. A wave of nausea overcame her as memories of the unspeakable abuse she had suffered at Jude Bonner's hands came flooding back to her. She quickly grabbed the railing and sat on the nearest step. It had been almost two years and the psychological wounds were still healing, much more slowly than the physical ones.

"What are you talking about?" she pressed. "He took me, not Festus. Newly and Festus were wounded by the dog soldiers, but they survived."

"Except you weren't here, and the marshal didn't have a woman for Bonner to take," he explained. "There was no one to give herself up so he would leave the rest of the town alone."

That moment was forever burned into her memory. Walking down those stairs, standing toe to toe with a monster, determined to hide the terror she felt at her unknown fate. It had affected her in ways no one could possibly understand, but she would do it all over again knowing what Bonner would have done to her friends.

"Bonner was furious that he had no bargaining power," the man continued. "He could have just left when he realized he couldn't help his brother, but he wasn't that kind of man. Somebody was going to pay, and he decided that the marshal's deputy was the next best thing to the marshal. So he marched Festus out onto the street and shot him in front of the town. Doc worked all night but couldn't save him. He was devastated. Everyone was."

Kitty wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come. She was physically exhausted and emotionally numb, wondering how long she was going to be stuck in this nightmare. She was tempted to jump up and start screaming—maybe she could wake herself up. Then again, she didn't want to cause a scene. _I know it's not real, but I don't want to look like a maniac in the middle of Front Street wearing my nightgown and robe._ She knew her logic made no sense, but neither did anything else. She said nothing.

"Would you like to go to the stable and see Doc?" he asked.

"No," she replied softly. Doc working in his office would have been a welcome sight. Doc lovingly caring for Festus' mule would be heartbreaking.

"Well then, we just have one more place to go," he announced, nodding toward Matt's office.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Through Their Eyes"

"I'm not going in there," Kitty said firmly, shaking her head. In the world she left behind—a place where Matt Dillon had been gone for days and she had been praying for his safe return—she would run to that office knowing he was waiting for her. She would take him in her arms, kiss him like she meant it, and inspect every inch of him to make sure that he was alright.

But not here. This was a place where there was no joy in seeing the people you loved. She didn't think she was strong enough to find out what was on the other side of that door. This was the man she loved more than anything, and her mind ran wild with possibilities.

Her young escort tried to calm her fears. "He's the reason you're here, isn't he? The whole journey has been leading up to this, and you are about to learn the answer to the question that has been haunting you. What is it that you are so afraid of?"

There was an easy answer. That what she had learned about her friends was so painful it had almost taken her breath away. That she couldn't take the chance of learning something even worse about the man she loved. All of that was true.

She started to say those very words, but she stopped herself. There was another truth, buried deep in a place where honest emotions lay untouched because they are too difficult to admit. In this unreal world, next to the man with the kind eyes and warm smile, she felt safe revealing it.

"I'm afraid he is better off without me," she said, looking down to avoid seeing his reaction.

He gave her an encouraging smile. "It's going to be okay. You can handle this," he assured her, holding his hand out to grab hers, then pulling her up from the step. "Trust me." She had no idea why, but she did.

They walked to the office and he opened the door for her like a gentleman. She slowly walked inside and took a deep breath as she caught her first sight of Matt Dillon, absentmindedly shuffling through a stack of mail at his desk.

Had it really just been a few days since he had left? Somehow he looked a little older than the last time she had seen him. He was still ruggedly handsome, wearing that same red shirt and vest, the U.S. Marshal badge clearly visible. What was different? She searched his face for answers, for clues to the life he had lived without her.

The gray in his hair and the lines around his eyes were a natural part of the ageing process, a reality they had faced together and laughed about over the years. But there seemed to be a little more gray, a few more lines than she remembered. Maybe it was her imagination. Wasn't everything else she had seen today?

Newly O'Brien appeared from the back of the jail and entered the office. Kitty smiled at the sight of her sweet, mild mannered friend. He looked exactly the same as he had several days ago, now wearing that U.S. Deputy badge full-time.

"Newly didn't wanted to give up his business to become the new deputy, but he didn't want to disappoint the marshal even more," she was told. "He knew he was the only one the marshal trusted for the job, and he couldn't let him down. Not after everything he had been through."

Newly walked over to the old coffee pot and poured two cups, handing one to his boss. Matt nodded toward him but didn't speak. He wasn't particularly busy, but he seemed preoccupied.

"Doc and I are planning to get some breakfast in a bit," Newly said. "Do you want to come?"

"Not today," he answered flatly.

Matt put his elbows on the table and rubbed his eyes. He had only been at work for an hour, but he looked bone tired.

"He didn't sleep well last night," Kitty's companion informed her. "Actually, he hasn't slept well since he lost Festus. He blames himself, of course. If he had been in town when Bonner's men rode in, Festus would probably still be alive. He'll never forgive himself for that."

"But it wasn't his fault," she said softly. "He can't be here all the time, it's his job. He can't protect everyone." Kitty knew that all too well.

"That's true," he agreed. "Doc and Newly try to talk to him, but he shuts down. He's a private man and needs a special kind of person to help him open up. He never met that person. With no one to share his burdens, he constantly feels the weight of the world on his shoulders. I think it shows."

"But surely he's had…women in his life" Kitty said cautiously.

"Oh yes, several over the years. Just none that lasted very long. His is a difficult life that requires a lot of sacrifices, ones that most women are not ready to make. Even those who were, it never felt right so he ended it before things got too serious. A man knows when he has met his other half. Matt Dillon never did, and he has accepted that."

Kitty's eyes misted as she looked at the melancholy man sitting alone at his desk. The soft spoken stranger beside her put his hand on her shoulder and gently squeezed.

"You are not the only person who wonders what might have been, Miss Kitty. Who questions her decisions and doubts the value of the life she has chosen. But most are destined to take those uncertainties to their graves. You are not."

He dabbed her eyes with a white handkerchief from his pocket, and she caught a whiff of its scent. It smelled nice, masculine, like a musky cologne. This experience had been anything but peaceful, yet there was something about this man that brought her peace. His voice, his manner, the way he spoke her name. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she felt a connection to him.

Kitty didn't know what to think. She had begun to feel as though somewhere in this doleful, topsy-turvy, unreal world were the answers she sought. Was Dodge really this different without her?

She looked at the young man who had so exasperated her with his evasiveness and upsetting tales of woe. "How do I know you're telling me the truth?" she asked seriously.

"I suppose you don't," he admitted. "But I want you to think about something. Is there anything I have told you that is not a logical consequence of your not being here? Can you point to one thing I have said that doesn't make sense in a world without Kitty Russell?"

She thought back to each painful story she had heard since first encountering that uninvited guest washing glasses behind her bar. The Long Branch, Sam, Thad, Doc, Festus, Newly…Matt. Everyone and everything she loved had set sail on a course that was almost unrecognizable to her. Yet she could not come up with a single thing he had told her that couldn't possibly be true. Not one.

Kitty shook her head, the significance of this bizarre day trip becoming clear to her. As clear as a dream could be, anyway.

"If you want to know whether your life here has been successful, judge it by what truly matters," he advised. "Not by rings or houses or even children. You may not have created lives, but you have changed them. Success is best seen through the eyes of those whose lives you have touched for the better. Do you understand that? Do you believe me?"

Kitty slowly nodded. "Good," he said happily, giving her a tender kiss on the cheek. "Now there's a man I know who loves you very much, and he's going to need you more than ever when he comes home. Let's get you back to greet him."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Home"

Kitty was jolted awake by a loud clap of thunder. Her eyes flew open and she found herself staring at the last sight she remembered before she had awoken in a world that was not her own—the ceiling of her bedroom.

She lay motionless as she heard a hard rain falling, unsure of what she had just experienced. A dream? It had to be. Still, she was almost afraid to survey the contents of her room. It had seemed so real.

She lightly shook the bed with her body, checking for a squeak. There was none. She brought a pillow to her face and inhaled. It smelled freshly laundered. She held it up and saw her red floral pattern.

Kitty sat up in bed—_her_ bed—and blew out a slow, calm breath as she looked at her armoire, her dresser, her chair. She was home.

What day was it? She had to think. It had been Monday night when she lay in bed crying those tears. This must be Tuesday, assuming she had not actually just relived the day before Matt was shot with a handsome stranger in a parallel universe. _What if it's not Tuesday?_

She quickly put the thought out of her head. She'd had a vivid dream, and it was silly to think otherwise. It was near the end of the month, that much she knew for sure. She had been so distracted the past few days that she had gotten behind in her bookkeeping. She needed to make herself presentable, brew a pot of coffee, and get some work done.

She descended the staircase a short time later, looking much more than presentable. Kitty had been a stunningly beautiful young woman, and age had only added a layer of maturity to that beauty. Her hair was swept up, with loose curls softly accenting her lightly painted face. She was wearing her blue dress, one of Matt's favorites. She didn't know why she had picked that one out of the long line of dresses in her armoire, but it had almost leapt out at her.

The saloon was as Floyd had left it Monday night, every table in place and floors clean enough to eat on. The bar didn't have a speck of dust, and rows of clean glasses awaited the day's customers. She glanced at the clock and noted that Floyd should be walking in any minute.

If there was any day she needed strong coffee it was this one. Kitty knew she must have slept because of that dream, but she didn't feel well rested. She made a fresh pot and sat at a table, ready to tackle her ledger.

At the familiar sound of batwing doors swinging open, Kitty looked up and prepared to greet her barkeep. Her friendly expression turned to shock as she tried to process the sight of the imposing figure standing before her.

Could she believe what she was seeing? Or was she back in her dream, only to awaken to an empty room? His right arm was in a sling, a sober reminder of the catalyst for his departure. He stood tall and strong, obviously weary from his journey but still the same man she had seen just days ago. She knew every hair on that head, every line in that face, and nothing had changed. This wasn't her dream.

"Hello, Kitty," he said sincerely, as if he didn't know where else to begin. She was a sight to behold, and it was all he could do to keep from running to her side and pulling her close. But he didn't have the right—not yet. He had left too abruptly and given her too little assurance about their future. He couldn't take for granted that she would welcome him back with open arms.

Kitty swallowed hard. "Oh Matt," she choked out, still searching for proof that this was actually happening. He slowly walked toward her as their eyes locked. "I've missed you," he said softly.

She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him like she meant it. Any doubts he had about his welcome were instantly erased.

"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear as they finished their kiss. "I wasn't thinking clearly, I shouldn't have left you. Not like that."

"It's okay," she whispered back. "You're home now."

"Home is wherever you are," he said with confidence. "I just needed a little help figuring that out."

"What kind of help?" she asked curiously, having no idea where he had gone or what he had been doing during their time apart.

"It's a long story," he sighed. "I'll tell you most of it later. But something happened…I'm almost embarrassed to tell you, it sounds so ridiculous."

"What?" she prodded. "You know you can tell me anything, Matt."

"I had a dream. I know it was a dream, but it was so real, Kitty. I was in a different world—a world without you. I got to live one day of my life as it would be if you had never come into it. I couldn't wait to get out of that world. It was so…empty, and lonely. I had a job and nothing else. It was like half of me was missing."

Kitty felt her heart skip a beat. _No, it couldn't be. It was a coincidence—an amazing, incredible, unbelievable coincidence._

"When I woke up, I knew I had to get back here," he continued. "I had responsibilities here, a job to do, a life to live. Our life. I know that's where I belong, where I will always belong—with you."

Kitty couldn't hold back the tears, the happy kind this time. She wiped a droplet from each eye and saw a smudge of mascara on her finger. "Well, I must look a mess," she said as she sniffed and laughed at the same time.

"Here," Matt offered, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it up to her nose. It smelled good—not like something that had been in the pocket of a man on a horse for days on end. What was that scent? It was musky, like cologne. Like…

"Where did you get this?" she asked with an urgency he didn't understand.

"I'm not sure," he replied, holding it out and looking more closely. "I always carry a couple of handkerchiefs. I don't actually remember this one."

Kitty unfolded the layers until a delicate design was visible in one corner. She recognized it immediately—it was the monogram she had paid a friend to stitch onto a set of handkerchiefs as a Christmas present two years ago.

"Honey? What's wrong? You look like you've just seen a ghost," Matt remarked, noticing her bewildered expression.

Kitty's thoughts returned to the dream she had been trying to put out of her mind all morning. Those kind eyes, that calming voice, that friendly smile—she didn't know how at the time, but she knew them all. They were young and fresh, so long before she had experienced them that she hadn't recognized him right away. There was a reason she felt such a connection to that man. It was because there was one.

She looked at Matt, unsure of how to even begin. It sounded crazy, but she could think of no other explanation. Someone up there was watching them, and he had given them a precious gift. He knew that they belonged together.

She would tell him later. Right now they just needed to hold each other and savor the moment.

"Nothing is wrong," she finally answered him. "Absolutely nothing."

She buried her head in his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, the handkerchief still in her right hand. She lightly rubbed the corner between her thumb and forefinger, feeling the raised curves of the fancy scripted "S" her friend had stitched so perfectly.

Kitty closed her eyes and smiled._ Thanks Sam._

The End


End file.
